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Poems 



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A.LWI. HOOTWIAN.: 



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TH !S LITTLE BOOK 

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED 

TO y\Y MOTHER, 




COPYRIGHl 
By the Author, A. M.'Hootm;in, C<.y(y\, 
APRIL 22nd. 1895. 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. 




E. E. RAGON, JOB PRiNTen, LOWELL, 



The Home Uv Use Tu Be. 

Y'li kin tramp 'long th' lane uv time es y'uchuze, 

Un he've a huge si', like a boy with th' bines, 

Until y'lir thorax may sometime refuze, to do 

Its full dooty, in svvolerin' down a sumpthin' 

That stops up th' hole in y'lir throte, which seems 

Tu lite tu sink, un tu he'vy tu flote. 

A thing, not fergot, yit out uv yhw site, 

Mostly in y'ur mind, if I 'member rite. 

'Cause the ole hous'es gon' y'ur 'no. 

That ole log cabin back oft' frum th' rode. 

Some ten rods er more, with winders in th' sides 

Un near each un a dore. 

Hung with tu hinges, un small stubby scrnes, 

Un a thum' la'ch un handul, 

Ez in them daze wus nzed, 

Tu lift up th' drop bar frum th' hook in th' side. 

I kin now jest see th' logs in th' wal' 

Where th' bark wus pe'led off, en 

Th' rotten placje there, where th' chinken wus bare. 

'Cuz th' mud we called plastur, 

Mixt 'thout hair — but straw inste'd — 

Wus now un then cumin' out. 

When th' rain un th' frost huver'd about. 

Un th' ole clab-burd-ed roof, 

That turned up 'is tose in summer 

When th' liot daze cam, en th' sun 

Poked 'is fingurs thru th' cracks at y'u sum. 



1^11 til"' nails stood up on that roof like men, 

Willin' to be hit on th' he'd agin, iin be driv in 

Til th' saplin' i-afters, 'minder th' lath 

Near th' stove-pipe hole, where th' pipe stuck out 

Wliic'h we chinked with a crock withth' bottumout 

Vn that red ti-ay en cubburd that mother used, 

\Vhere tli' do'nnts, un kuckies, un ginger-snaps tu 

Stade a feller' stommic so, 

In them daze uv long ago. 

Vn that ole trundul-bed, I used tu sleep in 

With a straw-tic' en bolster nu, 

Which in th' day time we slid 'nunder 

Th' big bedstid, with nobs un legs, un curt'ins tu 

In them good ole daze of use to do. 

Un th' bed-cord rope that used tu brake 

Whether y'u wus 'sleep er whether awake, 

Un had to be tied, en stretched, en keed. 

Not like a Hddel, but hand over hand, 

Un sometimes need. 

Un that ole walnut stairs, en partition tu 

Where we boys used to mezure, until we gru 

Abuve th' sci-ach on th' waF 

'Neath th' ole lookin'-glass by th' clock on th' shelf 

That dinged out th' hours, fer me en fei- y'u, 

Where we wont eat corn er cra'k nuts ez weusttu du 

Un that white roze bush which ust to dim' 

Wa' up on th' roof in th' hot summei- time 

Un the rozes, we'de pick em in time fer skule 

Tu take to th' te'cher, tu make her glad 

Clea)i thru en thru. 

In th' childhood daze uv use tu du. 

Un that ole ki'chen porch, with its long 

Wooden be'ms, like cannon on g'ard 

Where we'de catch with both hands, 

Un our feet ust to dangle, 

Un th' roof, wal' un be'm seemed to foi-m a triangle 

Un th' pole rafters o'er he'd, that held 

Th' roof uv th' shed frum cummin down, 



NmnberM 'bout twelve, more or less, 

L^n tb' long wooden shelve witb skillets un pot, 

That th' hired giirl clean'd, unless she furgot, 

Un th' big rain bar'l, with a bo'id fur a trotf, 

Stood, swollerin th' water 'til th' hoops ha'f cum off 

Un th' cheese poke drippin' away 

With its white milky wliey, from th' post 

At th' coi-ner near th' ole wash-pan. 

Which wus alius at hand near by on a stake 

In the ground, un a bo'rd on top, so th' men 

Cud clean up when they cum irum th' shop, 

Er th' barn, er th' field 

With a strange man er tu 

At th' sweet soundin' voice 

Uv our muther's boo! boo! 

Un that faithful ole well witb its ole wooden })Uinp 

Un its big wooden handul, un short hollow spout 

That seemed tu stick out so invitiu' to yu, sayin' 

Jest put y'ur left baud over my wateiy nozzel, 

Then pump with y'ur rite, witb all y'ur mite, 

'Till th' water cums thru 

'Tween y'ur hand un th' spout; 

Then put down y'ur snout, er rather 

Y'ui- drinker, un take a long swig 

Tu cool y'ur stomic en thinker. 

But look out er sum feller 

Will joke y'u a bit, by coolin' y'ur smeller 

A holdin' y'ur he'd un pumpin' rite fast 

Un' y'ur mouth grows so full 

that he gives yu relief, by jest lettin' up 

Un yu douse him witb water frum th' ole tim cup 

Then yu both laugh en holler tu. 

In them daze gon' by uv use tu do. 

Well, I mite rite on, en picter th' trees, 

Un th' flowers, un vines, un buny beez, 

Un th' grape vines that ust to spre'd 

Their large green leav's up over th' shed 

Uv th' ole smoke bouse. 



Where th' meat was hung 

Uii 111' milk crocks stood witli th' big lids on. 

Un th' bar') 8 uii cans uii wash tubs tu 

Tiiat we used in th' daze uv ust tu bv. 

Oh I happy daze uv use tu du. 

Never kan yu be untru', 

Y'ui- brite smile lingers with me yet 

Aitho' my ize is dimed with wet 

Tir tears flow eazy fer you un me 

Wlien we think uv th' Home uv ust tu be. 



Good Bye, ^04. 

Ez 1 stood upon my tiptoe like a boy too short 

to see, 
Th' nice things in a windei- fer a comin' Krismas 

tree 
Un a wishm,' un a wishin,' I could stretch up 

more un more 
Un see wa' in th' year beyond th' year uv '04. 

Th' new year jest broke in on us, like th' corain' 

uv th' tide, 
Ez it washed th' sand un rocks ashore, with a 

sweepin' kind uv pi'ide, 
Un we kind o' onexpected like, looked to see th' 

kuver'd shore. 
All white with i'oamin' promises, like th' year uv 

'94. 

Ez th' ''5" now takes th' place uv "4," un we 

wi'ite th' tiggers thus: (1895.) 
Jest stop un think th' date out first, un avoid a 

blottin' muss, 



Un make th' year moie [)le''saiiter, iiii biite, nu 

clean un puoi', 
Un cease yer blottin' 'i>5 ez y'li did yer '04. 

Un likewise I'de inject a tlio't to not to blot yer 

name. 
But keep yer reputation clean, ez y'u may need 

th' same; 
Fer time will change th' ocean tide, ez it spanks 

each noisy slioie. 
Then bid adio'U, with puipose new, the year uv 

'V)4. 



Our Own Grand Army Boys. 

-®- 

It sorter 'pears so funny like, tiiis G. A. li. tome, 

I like it more'n any time I nearly ever see, 

Un with th' stars and stripes around, un th' big 

drum's merry noise 
It calls to recollection, Our Own Grand Army 

Boys. 

They say th' ole camp tire is oineral'y observed 
'Most ev'rywhares — 'specially by Union boys that 

served, 
Un when th' speakin's passed around, it soi-t o' 

brings to me 
Th' tho't uv war in Southern lands m th' year uv 

'63. 

When our boys went marchin' thru' th' streets, 

in col urn's new un grand; 
A steppin' to th' old war tunes theyr [)layiu' on 

th' band. 



Un th" citizens all jiniii' in — un tb' little children, 

tu — 
All keepin' time un cheerin' fur tb' Ole Red, 

White, uji Blu'. 

Un how th' crowds upon th' streets ev'rywhares 
in town 

Lent their luvin' syni[)athy ez th' boys went 
niarchin' 'roun', 

Vn when I think uv that tireless cam}) on "-Cem- 
etery bill," 

We know their ranks are tillin' up with recruits, 
tho' all is still. 

If they could hear th' songs un toasts, un rattle 
uv th' drum 

They'd wave th' good news back again un recol- 
lect us sum. 

But there's no way we can coax 'em, in all we do 
er say. 

So we'll remember them next S|)ring, on Decora- 
tion Day 

We've done it ev'ry year before, un our tremblin' 

hands have pressed 
Th' new-made graves we've stre\A'n with flowers, 

where our soldier boys now rest. 
Un th' flag they died fur, wavin' un i-iplin' in th' 

breeze 
Abuv each grave we'll ne'er furget by evenin's 

such ez these. 

How it starts our hearts to thumpin', un our eyes 

grow moist with tears. 
When we gather round th' ole camp Are ez we did 

in other years, 
Un tell our jokes, un sing our songs, 'mid sorrow 

or 'mid joys. 
For we'll all stack arms to camp ag'in with Our 

Own Grand Army Boys. 



WIS 



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